


The Devil's In The Detail

by awarrington



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek (2009)
Genre: First Time, Fluff, Humor, In-Laws, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-05
Updated: 2012-08-05
Packaged: 2017-11-11 11:48:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/478229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awarrington/pseuds/awarrington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock gets a grilling from his father about an indiscretion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Devil's In The Detail

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the KiScon 2012 zine. Edited by **arminaa**. Beta-read by **ragdoll987**.

“Father.”

The door whispers closed behind Spock as he moves to stand, ramrod straight, in the middle of the ambassadorial office of the Vulcan Embassy in San Francisco. Although he is on shoreleave for the next seven days, he chooses to attend in uniform.

“Spock,” Sarek acknowledges with a slight nod and looks down at the padd in front of him. “Be seated.”

The older Vulcan is wearing a deep maroon robe over a black, high-collared tunic, the thick fabric devoid of any decoration other than traditional Vulcan script in a vertical column down the right side of his chest of rata, tapan, and tafar, logographs representing the intellectual ideals of concept, mental discipline, and cerebral process.

As he waits for his father’s attention, Spock takes in the familiar surroundings. The walls of the office are lined with rich, red drapes upon which are hung ancient and lethal weapons, once commonly used on Vulcan before the time of Surak. Now, since the planet’s destruction, they are amongst the most prized artifacts in the Federation, a reminder of what once was.

He’s frequently wondered if the ancient display was purely for esthetic reasons, or whether it is meant to intimidate: a not-so-subtle reminder of the violence Vulcans were once capable of, though by choice, no longer. He is aware that the cultures of many of the alien species who would likely pay his father a visit laud an overt show of aggression, believing it to be a symbol of power and strength.

Spock is keenly aware that being summoned by his father in this manner elicits a vague sense of discomfort. As he gingerly sits down on the other side of Sarek’s expansive mahogany desk, perched on the edge of the seat, he recognizes the unwanted emotion as a hold-over from his childhood when he frequently disappointed his father with his imperfect behavior. Reminding himself that the emotion is illogical since his father did not share the reason for the summons, he suppresses it.

Yet even as he does so, he knows there is a ninety six point three percent probability from the timing of this meeting that it likely concerns his conduct the previous evening. Even though he cannot be _absolutely_ certain, it is logical that he be prepared for that eventuality.

The message he received that morning was terse even by Vulcan standards:

 _Spock, report to the ambassadorial office at 07:00._  
  
Given it was sent at 02:10, he understood – correctly, apparently – that the meeting was to be today, and it is probable that his father, like himself, has not slept. 

Sarek’s long fingers flick at the screen as he reads at a rate Humans would no doubt be envious of, while Spock is left to stare at the top of his head. As he continues to wait, he reflects on the fact that his father has only had cause to be disappointed in his conduct once since reaching adulthood. That instance involved Jim Kirk and it is highly likely so does this one.

The last time, there was no censure after he tried to throttle his captain. This occasion could not be more different.

After forty-three-point-eight seconds, his father finally glances up and holds his gaze. “I was approached by someone purporting to be a representative of the Federation Enquirer.”

“Purporting?” Spock responds neutrally.

Sarek sits back slightly and clasps his hands together on the desk in front of him. “He gave the name ‘John Collins’. However, a background check shows it was a false identity and in reality he is a former a StarFleet Officer who served aboard the U.S.S. _Republic_ until eleven months ago, at which time he was dishonorably discharged from the service on the grounds of negligence that could have resulted in loss of life. His name is Benjamin Finney – are you acquainted with him?”

“I am not.” This line of questioning is entirely unexpected, and he finds himself wondering where it is going. He doesn’t have long to wait to find out.

“Mr. Finney has threatened to file a lawsuit against you for assaulting him yesterday.”

Spock swallows. “I was unaware.” That turn is unexpected. He had hoped that matter was over – Jim suggested the man who had accosted them the previous evening was unlikely to take the matter further after they left him unconscious with the remainder of the partying crew.

“That is, presumably, because he chose to approach me, directly.”

A part of his brain automatically estimates the probability of one of Sarek’s now-infrequent visits to Earth coinciding with a ten-day stop-over by the _Enterprise_ to be twelve point four six percent. If Sarek had not been here, it is entirely possible the matter would have ended the previous evening. With such low odds, clearly random factors are not acting in his favor, or ‘bad luck’ as Jim would no doubt put it.

Spock wonders why Finney chose to use a false ID and approach his father directly, rather than simply take his grievance through the judicial system. “What was his reason for contacting you?” Spock asks the question he realizes his father is waiting for.

“He is requesting ten thousand credits to – as he phrased it – ‘keep a lid on the story’.”

Spock is surprised at the man’s audacity, an eyebrow lifting to mark it. “I would suggest Mr. Finney is not conversant with Vulcans’ adoption of Surak's philosophy of rationalism with emotional mastery, or he would know we are, as a species, unmoved by personal humiliation or fear of threats.”

“Indeed, I also considered that,” Sarek agrees.

“Furthermore,” Spock continues, “under Federation law, extortion is punishable with a minimum detention term of three Earth years, or voluntary reprogramming. Surely he is aware of that.”

“I am in no doubt that he is,” Sarek agrees. “However, as Mr. Finney is also aware, in order for us to pursue a charge of attempted extortion, he would be obliged to reveal the reason behind his approaching me.”

“I see.” In truth, Spock does not see entirely, not because he knows of no ‘story’ – he most certainly does – but because he is unsure, precisely, what facts his father is in possession of. He can only hope, illogically, not all of them.

“He also claims his personal padd was stolen while he was unconscious.”

“I can assure you neither Captain Kirk nor I were responsible for its theft.”

“I am gratified to hear that.” Sarek’s fingers tap his own padd. “In order to make his point, Mr. Finney has sent me a holo of you and your captain. He tells me he has a second one in a secure location.”

“Ah.” Spock had been unaware holos were taken, though at the time he wasn’t necessarily in a position to notice. Clearly Finney didn’t use the padd he remembers him holding to take the holos if it has since been lost, but surveillance devices can easily be concealed about one’s person. 

“You appear…” Sarek leans in as if studying the screen in front of him for clarification, “…to be in an intimate embrace with your commanding officer.”

Spock feels his face warm at his father’s words. Random factors are most definitely _not_ operating in his favor if, out of the whole evening, Finney managed to capture _that_ particular moment. That his father is now witness to it is not what he might describe as a high point in his life. Before it becomes noticeable, he quickly reverses the effect of the flush through the use of voluntary vasoconstriction. His occasionally overactive sympathetic nervous system – one of his physiological differences compared to full-blooded Vulcans – can, on occasion, be somewhat inconvenient.

Several responses to his father’s comment spring to mind. However he errs on the side of caution, choosing to remain silent, as any reply at this juncture seems unwise.

“Mr. Finney believes that StarFleet would find this holo of interest since fraternization between senior officers is strongly discouraged. Tell me, is this behavior one that you indulge in frequently with your captain?”

Spock stares at a point over his father’s right shoulder. “Negative, it was the first time.”

His father glances up. “I see. That would explain the expression on Dr. McCoy’s face.”

Spock clearly recalls the doctor’s reaction: it was less than positive.

“It this something you intend to pursue with Kirk?” Sarek presses.

He cannot lie. But neither is he obliged to reveal the whole truth, if he can help it. “It is.”

His sympathetic nervous system once again attempts to overrule his control, but this time he manages to catch the flush before it begins. With a slightly sinking feeling that he is aware is most un-Vulcan, he finds himself able to predict the next question with ninety eight point seven percent accuracy.

“I find myself intrigued by the fact that Captain Kirk appears to be dressed in Terran religious garb.”

Spock takes no pride, nor comfort, in the fact his prediction is accurate. “That is correct.”

“Is there a reason he is wearing what I believe is a facsimile of the robes of a catholic nun?”

Spock is certain if he were entirely Human he would wince at the question, even though he knew it was coming. “It was a costume worn as part of a celebration prior to the marriage vows of a fellow crew member.”

Sarek frowns. “Captain Kirk wore it while conducting a wedding?”

“Indeed not!” Spock realizes his tone is a little defensive and taking a breath, adjusts it back to something more neutral. “While the captain is empowered to conduct marriage ceremonies, I assure you he does so in his StarFleet uniform. The costume was merely worn as part of the traditional pre-nuptial rituals for Human males typically of British and Irish origin. It is not an authentic design.”

“I am aware. Unless I am mistaken, nuns do not ordinarily wear raiments which end at mid-thigh level.”

“They do not,” Spock agreed.

“Nor wear over-the-knee high-heeled boots.”

Spock wishes he could see the photo Sarek is using as a reference though his eidetic memory has efficiently stored the entirety of the event. Clearly Finney did a more than adequate job of capturing the visual elements of the moment. Since the statement does not require a response, he chooses not to give one.

“And should I therefore presume,” Sarek continues, as Spock knew he inevitably would, “that this pre-nuptial ritual—”

“—It is referred to as a ‘stag night’,” Spock cuts in.

Sarek nods once. “—that this _stag night_ is the reason why Dr. McCoy appears to be wearing a head-cap decorated as a representation of a Terran farm-fowl, and a jersey with the word ‘ _cock_ ’ emblazoned on it; while you chose to wear…” Once more he leans in to study the screen.

“—Traditional Mongolian tribal robes,” Spock helpfully explains, at his father’s pause.

“Traditional Mongolian tribal robes? And when this holo was taken, where, precisely, were these robes?”

“I had removed them.”

Though he is continuing to look over Sarek’s shoulder, in his peripheral vision he sees an eyebrow rise. “For what purpose, may I ask, did you remove them, given that you were in a public place at the time?”

“In order to dry them out.”

In the moment of silence that follows, Spock reminds himself he had no difficulty standing before the collective – and bigoted – body of the Vulcan Science Academy and telling them he had no wish to study there. So why is this discussion with his father so awkward? He finds no logic in it.

Sarek’s eyebrows draw together in puzzlement. “You were caught by precipitation?”

Spock illogically wishes it was as innocent as that. “Negative, I was doused while we were inside.”

Once again, Sarek peers at his padd. “If I am not mistaken, you were in a traditional drinking establishment at the time this holo was taken.”

“That is correct.”

Sarek has not, as Spock expects, pressed further about his drenching. Switching subjects is a tactic he has seen his father employ on many occasions, often in a diplomatic context. He uses it to lull the other party into a false sense of security, only to catch them off-guard later, this method frequently eliciting more honest answers as a result. Spock becomes even more wary.

“We were in Ireland,” Spock continues, “in what is referred to as a _pub_. A bucket of ice – which by then was largely water – was thrown over me. I was forced to remove the robes or face the possibility of hypothermia. As you can no doubt see, I was still in possession of my pants.” _At that point._

“For what purpose were you doused with water?”

“It was not meant for me.”

“Yet you were the recipient.”

Spock nods in acknowledgement. “I was attempting to protect my captain during an altercation.”

Sarek leans back with a frown and crosses his arms. “A noble deed. Though surely there was a more efficient method of dealing with the situation than by stepping into the path of the water.”

Spock knows what he is now going to have to inevitably reveal – he had hoped not to. If he was taken to flights of fancy, he might believe the universe is acting against him. However, he is not superstitious and therefore simply puts it down to his father’s effective interrogation techniques. “Stepping into the path of the water was not my intention.”

“What _was_ your intention?”

“I was attempting to stand in order to remove the bucket from the assailant.” He pauses and finally looks at his father, who merely looks patiently back at him. Spock takes a deep breath before his ‘confession’. “However, I experienced some disorientation upon standing and combined with the unusual footwear, I lost my balance.”

Sarek once again raises an eyebrow in query. Given that Vulcans are generally efficient and effective in their movements, his surprise is not without merit. “You tripped?” There is an air of disbelief in Sarek’s voice.

“I believe I said that.” The remark sounds snippy even to his own ears and he silently reminds himself this is his father, not Doctor McCoy he’s talking to. In a more neutral tone, he adds, “The consequence was that instead of pushing the attacker away from the captain, I stumbled into the path of the water.”

“What was the cause of the disorientation?”

“At the insistence of both the captain and the groom, I had been imbibing a locally-produced beverage I was informed – since I failed to recognize the taste – was a wine containing essence of chocolate. Its potency did not become apparent until the moment I stood up.”

“I…see.”

In just two words, Spock feels the weight of his father’s disappointment. Vulcans strive to carry themselves at all times with dignity. Not only that but the consumption of chocolate is discouraged among Vulcans since it interferes with cthia – Vulcan reality-truth. Spock glances at the ahn woon displayed directly behind his father and wonders if his father ever considered – even in the most abstract way – using one on him, not to kill, simply to punish.

Sarek unclasps his hands and leaning on his elbows, presses his steepled index fingers together. “What was the cause of the altercation that led to this unfortunate event?” 

“Thirty six point seven percent of the Irish population are practicing Catholics. A local man took exception to the captain’s costume, stating it was sacrilegious to wear such garb. The captain had been imbibing _uisce beatha_ —”

“—Water of Life?” Sarek cuts in, his father’s universal translator apparently providing a literal meaning for the term. 

“In the Goidelic branch of languages, that is correct,” Spock confirms. “More commonly it is referred to as Irish whiskey. Being somewhat intoxicated, and therefore not in full possession of his faculties, the captain’s reaction to the accusation was to climb on a table and sing the beginning refrains of the Hallelujah Chorus from Handel’s Messiah. I was unaware, until that moment, that the captain was in possession of an excellent singing voice. However, the man was not predisposed to appreciate the superior quality of the refrain. Indeed, it was the captain’s singing which undoubtedly incensed him further, hence the attack.”

Sarek leans back a little and eyes Spock shrewdly. “I now understand why you were naked above the waist in this holo and Captain Kirk was dressed thus. However we have not yet resolved the matter of…” Sarek pauses and waves at the padd.

“The kiss,” Spock finishes for him.

“Quite.”

“Following the drenching and prior to the removal of my robes I rendered the assailant unconscious with the application of the nerve pinch – I did this because he was about to draw an item from his pocket I believed could be a weapon that might harm my commanding officer. Meanwhile, the captain’s capacity to come to harm on his own should never be underestimated. The highly polished surface of the table had been made wet by the bucket of water; the stiletto-heeled boots worn by the captain were unable to properly grip and he lost his footing. I had just removed my robe when I saw the captain slip. As I made to catch him, I once again lost my balance and we fell onto an armchair, the captain landing on my lap.”

Spock finds himself having to suppress another flush.

“Continue,” Sarek prompts into the silence.

“The captain, lying atop me, and finding me partly unclothed, told me he thought me esthetically pleasing and proceeded to engage in the labial contact you see in the holo.”

Spock finds that of all the questions his father has asked, he can predict with one hundred percent certainty what the next will be. Much as he illogically wishes it, he is not wrong.

“And you chose not to reject his advances.”

Spock stares at the floor as he controls yet another attempted hijack by his sympathetic nervous system. He is finding this issue most tiresome. “I, too, find the captain esthetically pleasing. Since the attraction is reciprocated, his advances were not unwelcome.”

Sarek is silent for a moment, but looking down, Spock has no idea what expression his face holds, if any. “I see,” he says finally. “And what of Mr. Finney?”

“Mr. Finney was in the pub at the time of the altercation with the local man, and recognizing the captain, introduced himself as a journalist from the Federation Enquirer. His interruption, an insinuation he made and his general demeanor angered the captain. I realized the situation was about to escalate when the captain took on what Dr. McCoy calls his ‘fighting stance’, and in an attempt to avoid a second altercation, I rendered Mr. Finney unconscious. After that, the captain and I left the establishment.”

“You judged incapacitating Mr. Finney a more logical step than simply preventing your captain instigating a fight?”

“Indeed.” He doesn’t explain further since he has no wish to divulge to his father how often Jim has gotten into brawls since the start of the mission, and that once he has it in his head to fight, how difficult it is for Jim to accept a rational argument as to why he should desist.

Silence once again descends and one point two four minutes into it, Spock ventures a glance at his father, who is staring down at the holo.

Finally Sarek looks up. “I understand you find you are drawn to your captain and you have stated your intent to pursue this connection. As you are past the age of majority, I cannot forbid it. Therefore I appeal to you in the interest of discipline within the chain of command, and strongly advise against its continuance.”

Spock inwardly sighs and were he entirely Human, he would no doubt curse those random factors for failing him at every turn.

~*~

 _24 hours earlier_  
  
“I have agreed, under duress from the captain, to attend Lt. Riley’s stag party. However I fail to comprehend the reasoning behind the insistence on donning costumes for it.”

Nyota was wearing what Spock had come to think of as her stubborn look as she stood in the middle of his cabin with her hands on her hips. “It’s just part and parcel of the event, Spock. The girls are doing something similar for Hannity’s hen night.” At the dubious look he threw her, she added, “Look, everyone’s going to be dressed up – you _can’t_ be the only one to go in your uniform. I’m sure we can come up with something that you’d be comfortable wearing.”

And that was how he came to be dressed in a Mongolian tribesman’s wrap-around robe made of dark green wool with an intricate border design around the neck and hem, and cinched at the waist with a black cummerbund. One of the benefits of it was that the thick, heavy material would keep him warm since according to the meteorological forecast for their destination, the temperature in Cork, a town in southwestern Ireland, would not go beyond the high teens Celsius.

He was pleased to have Nyota as a friend, helping navigate the quagmire of Human interactions as he often found them perplexing. During the period he had dated her while at the Academy, he had found it even more complex. He knew she frequently found that his behavior failed to meet her expectations, her subtle hints not so much falling on deaf ears, but rather on ones that were simply unable to comprehend the language. Spock having no other partner but Nyota to discuss these difficulties with, their relationship took this away from him; he valued her counsel and honesty more than their sexual intimacy, thus they made better friends.

In fact, Nyota had been invaluable in assisting him with better understanding his colleagues aboard the _Enterprise,_ withthe notable exception of McCoy who he believed he would never truly comprehend, though once the mission was underway and he got to better know his captain better, he rarely needed help with Jim. Indeed, Spock took it upon himself to spend more time with Jim in order to learn more about him, to try to figure out, to use Earth parlance, _what made him tick_. It was because of this he allowed Jim to press him into joining in Riley’s festivities.

Making his way to the transporter room took eleven percent longer than usual as he had trouble walking in the traditional footwear, since the toes of the shoes were both pointed and curled upward in what he considered to be a most inefficient design. He was glad no-one saw him, the ship now all but deserted as it sat in dry-dock for the next ten days awaiting repairs and upgrades. All personnel were on shoreleave for the next seven days.

Jim was already there when he arrived. He immediately recognized his costume as being based on a catholic nun’s, though hardly authentic since the habit was as short as the StarFleet female uniform dress. Spock privately acknowledged the boots Jim was wearing were quite arresting, causing his captain to tower over him by almost ten centimeters. The irony in Jim choosing the costume of a group of people known for their chastity was not lost on him.

“Spock, you look awesome!” Jim grinned, the wimple setting off his blue eyes most favorably, in his opinion. His captain’s validation warmed him. “I see Uhura’s worked her magic on you!”

“There was no magic, Captain. We found a suitable design and programmed a replicator.”

Jim slapped him on his arm. “You damn well know what I mean and don’t pretend you don’t. The others have already gone down – Kevin and some of the guys wanted to get started early. We’re just waiting on Bones.”

A moment later the door opened and the doctor entered, causing Jim to laugh loudly. “Perfect Bones. I always knew you were a dick!”

The doctor grinned back apparently unoffended by the remark. On his head was a cap fashioned to resemble the head of a rooster, while the word ‘cock’ was emblazoned in large red letters across the front of his jersey. Spock found himself perplexed, guessing he was missing something vital, given the unsophisticated costume didn’t merit the degree of Jim’s obvious amusement.

“C’mon, let’s get going,” Jim said, “or they’ll drink the place dry before we get there!”

Spock raised his eyebrow in skepticism. “I think it highly unlikely, Captain.”

“It’s a _joke_ , Spock,” McCoy said, exasperated. “I know the concept is lost on you since Vulcans don’t have a sense of humor. But you don’t have to take everything Jim says, literally.”

“I am perfectly aware of the concept of humor, doctor—”

“Guys, guys,” Jim cut in with a grin. “Can it! I want to cut loose and have fun, not spend the night refereeing you two! And you,” he prodded Spock in the chest, “since we’re off-duty you call me Jim, capiche?” 

Beaming down to the transporter station in the town center, they exited the building and as the cool, humid air wrapped around them, Spock appreciated the fact his costume offered him some protection from the low temperature.

 _The Bodega_ turned out to be a short walk, though it took longer than usual as both Spock and Jim were getting used to unfamiliar footwear. The fact that their costumes barely attracted a second look from local passers-by confirmed for Spock the veracity of Nyota’s statement about pre-nuptial celebrations being commonplace.

The town was a typical mix of old and new architecture with little to make it stand out. The same could be said of the bar which itself was modern-looking, though it was housed in an old building that he estimated dated back several hundred years to the nineteenth century.

Lt. Riley’s party was taking place in a cordoned-off area of the pub where Spock noticed twenty three _Enterprise_ crew had already gathered – all of them male, and all in costume – some more outlandish than others. He estimated a third of the men were dressed in clothing ordinarily worn by female Terrans, while another third wore costumes with some kind of sexual connotation, several of which included fake penises on display that were of far more generous dimensions than was usual for Humans. Finally he now had the context in which to understand the doctor’s crude choice of attire.

With Nyota, Hannity and her ‘hen’ party, as she called it, planning to beam down to Koh Samui in Thailand for a beach party and then to relax for a few days in one of the regions famous spas, Spock found this division of the sexes most curious. Both parties were celebrating the up-coming nuptials, so why not do it together? There was nothing comparable in Vulcan culture, as aside from the rare occurrences of spontaneous bonds forming between t’hy’la, the bonding ceremony generally took place while the male was in his Time, the urgent nature of which meant that a celebration by both clans wasn’t scheduled until sixty or more cycles after.

“Drink?” Jim asked.

Spock pulled his eyes away from the sight of Sulu slapping a laughing Chekov across his buttocks with the grotesquely large penis that was attached to the costume he was wearing. Looking up to Jim’s smiling face, he was momentarily disconcerted by the temporary height difference afforded by Jim’s boots.

“Thank you. I will have a glass of Altair water.”

Jim grimaced. “Ah, c’mon Spock! We’re celebrating – you can have something stronger than that.”

“As you are aware—”

“—Alcohol doesn’t affect you, yeah, I know. I just want something that’ll help you relax.” 

The doctor, standing beside Jim, leaned in and whispered something to the captain which made him grin. “Seriously?”

“Yup!” the doctor confirmed.

Unfortunately for Spock, the ambient noise was at too great a level for him to overhear whatever it was the doctor had shared. But the calculating look Jim bestowed on him gave him cause for concern.

“Back in a minute, Spock,” he said and set off for the bar.

McCoy watched him leave, then turned to Spock. “You need to loosen up.”

It wasn’t the first time the doctor had said something similar. “I assure you I am perfectly functional, Doctor.”

“That’s as may be, but for some reason known only to him – because I asked and he didn’t give me an adequate explanation – he’s choosing to spend five days of his leave with you in Bali, when what he needs isn’t just rest and relaxation, he needs fun and a way to blow off steam. You know the pressure he’s under, day in, day out. This,” he indicated their party where a woman in scanty clothing had approached Lt. Riley and was now dancing and rubbing herself against him while the rest of the party cheered, “is a good way for Jim to unwind. But it’s not enough. He needs more – how in god’s name are you going to help him? You’ll spend half your time with your head in a tricorder and chess marathons won’t cut it.”

Spock was well aware, from his childhood, that words had the power to sting. He knew McCoy’s comments came from a place of concern for his friend. No doubt, if the doctor had been free, he would have elected to spend his leave with Jim, but family commitments meant after the party, he was heading to Georgia for six days.

“I am at a loss what to say, Doctor. Should I suggest to Jim he find an alternative companion?” Just saying the words had an odd physiological effect, which he ignored.

“Maybe—” the doctor began, but didn’t get any further when he heard the bright notes of Jim’s laughter as he approached them.

“I sure hope someone gets some holos of that!” he said, waving his tumbler of whiskey in the direction of Riley and the now-naked woman, as they cavorted together, cheered on by the rest of the _Enterprise_ crowd.

Spock privately thought it would likely be best if no-one did, as he was unsure what Lt. Hannity would think of it.

Jim handed Spock a glass containing a dark liquid that was patently not the Altair water he’d requested. “Here, try this.”

“What is it?” he asked, taking the glass.

Jim grinned. “Never mind, just try it.”

Spock took an experimental sniff of the beverage and from its aroma could easily detect the overtones of a full-bodied red wine, but beneath that was something else, dark and sweet. He took a small sip and felt the liquid wash over his tongue like liquid velvet, lighting up his tastebuds with its complex flavors. A second, larger sip elicited a more intense effect.

“What do you think?” Jim asked, looking pleased with himself.

“It is most palatable. I have identified a fortified red wine, but the other flavors are unfamiliar to me. What is this?”

“It’s chocolate!” Jim grinned, clinking his tumbler of Irish whiskey against Spock’s. “Enjoy!”

Spock considered the situation. He had long wished to try chocolate, to experience its effects on his metabolism– purely as a scientific experiment – and this party afforded him the perfect opportunity, safe in the knowledge that Jim would look after him. “Very well,” he replied. He took another sip, earning him a grin of approval from Jim. He would have put the subsequent physiological response – a speeding up of his heart rate and increase in blood-flow to his face – down to the beverage, had he not curiously experienced it before in Jim’s presence.

The pub gradually filled up with, Spock estimated, seventy three point six percent of the people being local judging by the number talking in _Gaeilge_ or who spoke Standard with a soft lilt to it, no doubt influenced by their native language. Everyone seemed friendly and while few Vulcans were likely to have visited the city, hardly anyone gave him a second glance, even dressed as he was.

As the evening wore on, the party became more raucous and it appeared to Spock that the sole purpose of the event was to embarrass the groom-to-be as much as possible. He found himself uncomfortable with some of the antics and remained on the periphery of the group, glad that Jim mostly stayed at his side, thereby providing a very welcome distraction. In fact, it occurred to Spock as he watched security chief Giotto use restraints to tie a laughing Lt. Riley to a chair while Scott, Sulu and Chekov proceeded to strip him of his clothing, that as long as Jim was with him he was quite content.

“Jim Kirk!” called a female’s voice in the crowd.

Standing beside him on the edge of the private party area, Jim spun round to see who was calling him. With a slightly sinking feeling, Spock watched a slim young woman approach, wearing a purple, figure-hugging one-piece trouser suit with a low-cut neckline, her blonde hair piled high on her head in an elaborate style.

“Jan, you’re looking well. What are you doing here?” Jim smiled as she approached.

She smiled back, looking pleased to see him and gave him a long hug, Jim towering over her in his high heeled boots. “I could ask the same of you!” she laughed. “I barely recognized you in your nun’s outfit.” She stepped back, but didn’t let go of Jim’s arms. “I’m in Ireland for a medical conference. A few of the delegates thought we’d take the opportunity to explore a bit of the country while we’re here. I thought you were off in the black, exploring.”

“I was – we’re back for some maintenance…” He waved his hand in the general direction of his crew. “…and some fun. You remember Kevin Riley? Would you believe he’s getting married?”

“Kevin Riley, settling down? No way – I don’t believe it!” she grinned. “Next I’ll be hearing James ‘Tomcat’ Kirk’s getting hitched!”

Jim laughed. “I’m already married to my ship. This is my first officer and science officer, Lt. Cdr. Spock. Spock, this is Dr. Janet Wallace. We were at the Academy together.”

Spock inclined his head. “Dr. Wallace,” he said coolly.

It never ceased to surprise Spock that even though Jim completed his Academy training in three years instead of the usual four, with the punishing workload he must have had, he still managed to find time to date so many women – and he was in no doubt Wallace was a former girlfriend. The rate at which they ran into them while on missions, was extraordinary.

“Mr. Spock,” she responded, equally coolly, then turned back to Jim and took his hand. “If you’re going to be around for a few days, how about we arrange to meet up. You’ve got my number.”

“Thank you, but I’ve already arranged to spend my leave with Spock. We’ve booked a cabin in Bali.”

“Bali? Really?” She gave Spock a lingering look that he was unable to interpret. “How romantic.”

This was one of those occasions when he needed Nyota’s input, as he was certain he was missing some important subtext.

Jim laughed. “It’s nothing like that, Jan. I just picked somewhere nice and warm where I’ll be able to lay on a beach, and there’s plenty of sciency stuff there to keep Spock occupied.”

The doctor’s earlier comment was still in the forefront of Spock’s mind. “Captain, if you wish to spend your time elsewhere, you are under no obligation to me.”

Jim looked surprised. “You’re right, it’s no obligation, Spock. I _want_ to.” He frowned. “Unless you’re just going to humor me.”

Jim appeared sincere. “I am not. It is my wish also.”

Wallace looked uncertainly between them and then turned to Jim with a smile. “Well, if you change your mind, let me know.”

Jim smiled back. “I will. Take care – it was good to see you.”

Gently dismissed, Wallace headed back through the crowd to join her group. As soon as she was out of earshot, Jim turned to Spock, his smile gone. “Let me guess, Bones said something to you, didn’t he?”

Spock was taken aback by Jim’s perceptiveness, though he’d seen it too many times to be surprised by it – it was one of the things that made him such a good captain.

Spock couldn’t lie. “He is concerned for you, Jim,” he said diplomatically.

Jim sighed and glanced over to where the doctor was standing chatting to Scott. “He thinks he knows what’s best for me. And he’s often right,” Jim conceded. He looked back at Spock. “But not always. I’m looking forward to this time with you. Drink?”

Spock was well aware that he was inebriated and knew he should stop drinking. However, one of the effects of the chocolate was a lowering of his inhibitions, including his self control. “That would be acceptable.”

Jim looked down at him and grinned. “Follow me.”

With personal space limited in the crowded pub, Spock found himself standing at the bar, feeling the warmth of Jim’s body pressed tightly to his side. It was there that he had an epiphany: realizing he not only didn’t mind Jim’s physical contact, he actively welcomed it. When he turned to look up at Jim’s handsome face as this revelation came upon him, the smile he received made his stomach flutter and his chest tighten. As he cataloged the physiological reactions he tested his hypothesis that Jim was indeed the catalyst, by looking away and looking back, only to get the same reaction again, slightly intensified. At the same time, a warmth stole over him as he felt his face flush. Ordinarily, it would be something he would strictly control, but he wasn’t sure he was able, so he let it happen.

“Glad you came now?” Jim asked and for the first time, Spock noticed how dilated his captain’s pupils were, surprisingly so considering the bar area was quite brightly lit.

“Indeed I am,” Spock confirmed, his answer once again eliciting a bright smile from his captain.

Glasses in hand, they moved to the edge of the area occupied by the _Enterprise_ contingent. “Let’s sit down, Spock. My feet are killing me.”

Not being used to such footwear, he was unsurprised at Jim’s difficulty. Steering them to an empty table on the edge of the private area, they sat down on a pair of cozy armchairs that faced each other.

Jim stretched out his legs under the table and due to the restricted space, they pressed against Spock’s own. Ordinarily, he would have subtly moved to avoid the touch, but he found himself quite content to remain in that position, almost preternaturally aware of the contact and illogically warmed by it.

While Jim watched the antics of his crew, Spock took time to take stock of his physiological reaction to the chocolate. Despite an average reduction of nineteen point six percent across several faculties, including speech, he was surprised at how erudite he managed to remain, holding his own in discussions that ranged from Federation politics to philosophy – ‘do you believe in destiny’ had been Jim’s opener on that particular discussion.

Later, while Jim was visiting the men’s room, Spock watched as a lithe Andorian male entertained the group with what he’d previously heard referred to as a ‘strip tease’, goaded on by raucous laughter, clapping and whistling. For a man about to get married, it surprised him how much of an emphasis there seemed to be on what he’d heard referred to as ‘pleasures of the flesh’.

When Jim returned, Spock was about to ask him the reason for this when he noticed an elderly man weaving drunkenly behind Jim, his face puffy, with the rosacea flush of someone who frequently indulged in large quantities of ethanol, and a wild look in his eyes. Spock immediately tensed.

“What in the name of God do yous tink ye’re doin’ woring dat non’s habit?” he shouted at Jim, wagging his finger at him. “Tis a sacrilege to be sure! Take it off, man!”

Jim smiled down at him – the heels on his boots giving him at least twenty centimeters over the old man. “Dude, I’m just here partying with my friends here. No offense meant.”

“Well, Oi’m takin’ it. Get it off, Oi say! Tis a feckin’ effrontery to the catholic church, so it is!”  
Spock watched his captain shake his head with a grin, a look of mischief in his eyes. He then proceeded to climb onto his chair and then onto the table.

“Jim?” Spock queried.

“Hallelujah! Hallelujah!”

Spock recognized the opening refrain from Handel’s famous chorus and despite his captain having imbibed a considerable quantity of alcohol, his voice was surprisingly good – his tone a warm tenor. He was so distracted by this discovery that he didn’t notice the old man walk unsteadily to another table and pick up a bucket that had earlier contained a bottle of champagne, until he was almost upon them. Realizing he intended to throw it – and the contents – at Jim, Spock quickly stood intending to relieve him of his projectile, but his costume shoes, together with the effects of what he’d been drinking, confounded his attempt. So instead of the smooth maneuver he’d intended, he stumbled just as the man launched the contents. It was supposed to go in Jim’s direction as he stood on the table, but due to the old man’s poor aim, it went rather lower than it needed to be, causing Spock to catch the brunt of it.

The ice had turned mostly to water and drenched him, the wet cold hitting him with a shock, like a thousand tiny needles pricking his skin. When he saw the man turn and put his hand into his pocket, Spock feared he might have a weapon. With no time to alert Giotto or any of the crew who were too busy being entertained by the now naked Andorian to notice what was going on, Spock lunged and put the man out cold with a swift application of the _eta_ – the Vulcan neck pinch. He felt immediately chagrined when the man’s hand fell out of his pocket, clutching not a weapon, but a rosary.

Gently placing the unconscious man onto a free armchair, he turned to see five of the locals approach, looking angry. Spock carried out a swift assessment of the situation, wishing to avoid the kind of bar-room brawl he had seen his captain get embroiled in, on occasion.

“I believe the quantity of alcohol your friend has imbibed has rendered him unconscious,” Spock said to the advancing crowd. They looked at him uncertainly, and then at the old man. One of the group, who Spock estimated was in his fifties, looked warily at him as he stepped forward to check.

“O’Riordan’s okay,” he pronounced after a moment. “We’ll leave him be.”

“Spock!” Jim called as the men turned away. “You’re fucking awesome! But you look like a bedraggled cat!”

The comment brought his attention back to the state of his attire and the fact that his core temperature had dropped at least two degrees in under a minute – he was unable to determine a more precise figure due to his faculties working at less than optimum performance. He was faced with two options: either to focus on consciously raising his temperature which, given his current state, would take some time, or remove his drenched robe. Logic suggested the latter, as it would be faster. A certain lack of coordination – which he didn’t factor into the equation – meant he had difficulty undoing the cummerbund. He solved it by ripping it, the material giving way easily, allowing the robe to fall open, which he shucked off.

“Woah, Spock!” Jim called as he stood, topless, the warm air of the bar heating his cold, damp skin.

Spock looked up just in time to see Jim lose his footing on the now-wet table, his captain’s arms frantically wind-milling in an attempt to stay upright. It was to no avail as he skidded backwards, leaned forward to compensate and slipped, madly flailing as he fell. 

Spock quickly moved but was unable to find an optimum position due to the armchair he’d earlier occupied being in the way. Stretching out his arms, he somehow managed to catch Jim as he toppled off the table, but with an uncustomary lack of co-ordination, he staggered backwards under the impact and fell into the armchair, taking Jim with him.

While contact with Jim at the bar and at their table had been agreeable, having Jim practically lying on top of him, especially with so much of his skin exposed, was most pleasurable. Apparently Jim agreed.

“Jeez Spock, has anyone told you, you’re one hot dude!” He punctuated the comment by running his hand across Spock’s chest, catching a nipple already erect from the cold with his trailing fingers, sending a shiver through him that had nothing to do with his recent dousing.

“Jim,” Spock said, breathily.

He was unsure who instigated it – he suspected it was both of them simultaneously, in tune as they seemed to be – as their mouths smashed together in a kiss that was all lips, teeth and tongues. A small part of him noted Jim tasted of the whiskey he’d been drinking all evening, but the greater part simply reveled in the intimacy, feeling Jim’s tongue sliding erotically against his own.

They’d barely gotten started when his captain’s shoulder was firmly shaken and a familiar voice close to them loudly whispered, “Jim!”

The intrusion caused them to reluctantly break apart and for a moment, Spock got to see Jim, all flushed, lips kiss-swollen before he was summarily yanked off him by the doctor.

“Hey, I was busy!” Jim protested as he pushed himself off Spock, wobbling slightly on his heels as he adjusted his short dress which had ridden up.

“What in tarnation do you think you’re doing?” The doctor sounded scandalized.

“Did you really just say ‘ _what in tarnation’,_ Bones?’ Jim asked, clearly amused.

The doctor scowled. “Dammit, Jim! What the hell were you thinking kissing _Spock_ of all people! And _you’re being watched_.”

Spock stood, unsure if his disorientation was caused by the drink or his encounter with Jim. Following the doctor’s gaze, he saw a middle-aged, fair-haired man standing close to them, padd in hand. 

“Do you want something?” Jim asked the man. “This is a private party.”

“So, the great Captain James T. Kirk,” the man replied, his mouth twisted in a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Spock was mildly impressed the man recognized Jim given he was wearing a wimple that covered his head and close-framed his face.

Jim frowned. “Who wants to know?”

The man stuck out his hand. “John Collins, Federation Enquirer.”

Jim chose not to shake the hand and after an awkward beat, the man withdrew it.

“What do you want?” Jim repeated, his tone edged with anger. “I’ve said already, this is a _private_ party.”

“But you’re in a public place. Isn’t screwing your first officer against regs, Captain?”

Jim pulled his arm back ready to strike and in that moment, both Spock and McCoy acted, the doctor to grab Jim and Spock to render the man unconscious.

As he slid bonelessly to the floor, Spock looked at his hand as though it had acted independently of him. It had been an instinctive reaction to protect his…

“Jesus Jim, what the fuck?” the doctor shouted at the captain, pulling his train of thought away.

Jim pulled out of the now-loosened arm-lock the doctor had him in. “Can it, Bones. I don’t want to hear it.” Jim stepped over the man’s prone body. “You okay, Spock?” he asked, grabbing his hand.

The jolt that went through him at the unexpected, but welcome, contact left him momentarily unable to respond.

“Spock?” Jim asked, lifting his other hand to cup his cheek.

Spock stared into impossibly blue eyes that gazed back at him, worriedly. “I am unharmed,” he reassured Jim.

“For god sake, Jim, go get a room!” came the doctor’s exasperated voice beside them.

Jim grinned. “Best idea of the night, Bones!” 

Spock felt a tug on his hand as Jim tried to pull him towards an exit.

“What of Mr. Collins?” Spock asked, looking down at the body on the floor. The man had fallen with his arm cradling his head, as though he’d simply decided to lie down there and go to sleep.

Jim looked down at him. “Fuck him. I don’t think he’ll give us any more trouble.” Once again he pulled at his hand. “Come on, Spock.”

The insistent action sent psionic waves pulsing through him. Evidently Jim was aroused and intended to slake it with him. The chocolate content of the drink he'd been imbibing all evening was causing a deplorable lack of control. A part of him knew he should shield against the input from Jim he was receiving through the physical contact; the greater part of him, however, found he couldn’t care less. He wanted what Jim wanted. One small detail stopped him from allowing Jim to lead him out, though.

“My robes.”

With an impatient huff, Jim let go of his hand and tottering in his high heels to the chair on which he’d carelessly thrown his costume, picked it up. “It’s soaked through – you can’t wear this.”

Spock was possessed of just enough of his faculties to know that while people wandering the streets of Cork in all manner of clothing barely drew a glance, a half-naked Vulcan might attract unwanted attention. Mindful there were probably other opportunists like Finney, he wordlessly took the sodden robe from Jim.

Jim put his hand out and covered Spock’s, a look of concern on his face. “It’s cooled down outside – wearing wet clothes might give you a chill.”

“Vulcans do not get chills Jim,” he explained and mentally bracing himself, slipped his arms into the cold, wet sleeves, wrapping the saturated robe around himself. It was just as unpleasant as he expected. In addition, the cummerbund he’d ripped was useless, so he was forced to hold the robe closed with one hand.

As soon as he was done dressing, Jim grabbed his hand again. “See you later, Bones!”

Spock didn’t miss the grin and the wink Jim gave his friend, nor the scowl of disapproval he received in return, the look causing Jim to laugh.

Unlike on their way to the bar when the woolen robe had been an adequate barrier to the cool air, the wet fabric, when combined with the light breeze blowing down the street, seemed to suck the last vestiges of warmth from his body and he began to shiver.

To take his mind off how uncomfortable he was feeling, he began a conversation. “I have never consumed chocolate before now.”

Jim stopped walking and looked at him incredulously. “Aw, c’mon Spock, you’re joking, right?”

“Negative. It is not a substance I am familiar with.”

Jim’s draw dropped open. “You’re not familiar with chocolate? You’re shitting me!”

“I assure you I am not…” He couldn’t bring himself to repeat the phrase. “As I assume you are aware, chocolate is an intoxicant for Vulcanoids. Its consumption has been discouraged since the time of Surak as it interferes with cthia - the perception, understanding, or belief which most closely approximates reality. One can only properly experience reality when one’s faculties are unencumbered by artificial stimulants.”

Jim looked chagrined. “Bones told me it’s the only thing that can make you drunk. He didn’t tell me it’s a big deal, though. Sorry.”

“No matter. It was my choice to ingest it.”

They began to walk again, Jim immediately almost tripping over a paving stone. “Fuck it, I can’t walk in these, and you need to get warmed up.” He glanced up. “This place’ll do.”

Spock had been so focused on trying to walk in his own bizarre footwear and attempting to regulate his body temperature that he failed to be fully aware of his surroundings – further evidence that his grasp of cthia had slipped. The non-descript building they were standing beside, he realized, was a small hotel, the sign in the window indicating they had vacancies.

Inside, the lobby, lined in faux-pinewood, was basic but blissfully warm, reminding him somewhat of a Swedish sauna he’d once seen a holo of. Jim approached the auto-check-in and booked them a room in short order. As they approached the point in the transaction where payment was required, Spock pushed his robe back to locate his credit chip which he kept safely stowed in his pants, but Jim was faster, pulling out first his communicator and then his chip from a concealed pocket in his costume.

Their room on the second floor was decorated in garish colors – primarily orange and yellow – though it was the large four-poster bed that dominated the room. He barely had time to take in his surroundings when Jim was crowding him, pushing his damp robe off him and pressing him against the wall to take his mouth in an urgent kiss.

Tilting his head up, Spock reciprocated with enthusiasm but when he surreptitiously tried to remove Jim’s wimple so he could run his fingers through the fair hair, he found himself thwarted.

“Ow!” Jim complained, pulling away from the kiss. “What the hell…?”

“You are over-dressed. I was attempting to rectify the matter.”

“By trying to strangle me?” With an air of impatience, he fiddled with the back of the wimple, finally removing it. “Happy now?”

Spock eyed the hair, compressed by the head-dress in a manner that wasn’t in any way flattering, and decided to follow his beloved mother’s old maxim: if you have nothing good to say, then say nothing. Instead, he pulled Jim in for another satisfying kiss.

While the fingers of one hand carded Jim’s hair, the other cupped his ass. With a slight shift, Jim pressed his knee between Spock’s legs, and with a quiet whimper, Spock pressed his erection against Jim’s hip. As Jim did likewise, he felt something amiss and broke the kiss.

“What now?” Jim asked irritably.

Spock looked down to see… he wasn’t sure, precisely, what he was looking at. It was hard and sheathed in grey cloth.

Jim rolled his eyes. “It’s just my briefs. I was gonna reveal them later at the party, but we quit it before I got the chance.”

Jim pulled at the short ‘habit’ which was apparently held closed by Velcro, to reveal he was wearing briefs with the face of an elephant on the front. His penis – now fully erect – was enclosed in material that separately formed the elephant’s trunk. Ordinarily, he supposed, the trunk would hang down, but now it pointed aggressively upwards as though the elephant were bellowing.

Spock felt his lips quirk in amusement and quickly tried to control it. Unfortunately, the chocolate constituent of the drink he’d been imbibing all evening left him without the degree of control he was used to, and another glance down at Jim’s ‘trunk’ caused the corner of his lips to lift higher.

“Are you laughing at me?” Jim asked, a look of both wonder and incredulity on his face.

Spock put his hand up to his mouth to cover the damning evidence. “I am not.”

“You are! You _so_ are!” Jim grinned back.

Spock valiantly tried – and failed – to reverse the smile, glad Jim wasn’t offended. To cover himself, he pulled Jim forward and buried his face in Jim’s neck, kissing up the length towards his ear. “Please remove your briefs,” he begged, worried he might outright laugh – something he had not done since he was a very young child.

The doing was not so easy. Jim’s penis, having grown to its full length, required the cloth be carefully peeled off. While he was about it, Jim took off his boots so they were now back to being the same height. Spock decided the removal of his own shoes and pants would aid taking their intimacy to the next level.

“Fuck, Spock! You’re huge!”

Spock looked down at his erection and then at Jim’s. He could see why Jim might think that, though he estimated they were both of average size for their species.

“And you went fucking commando!”

“Excuse me?” Spock was confused since there were no commandos in StarFleet, nor did the non-sequitur have any obvious relevance to their current situation.

“You weren’t wearing underpants.”

“That is correct. I see no need for them.”

Jim’s eyes went wide. “Wait, are you saying you _never_ wear underwear?”

“The fabric of the uniform provides sufficient warmth. When we have carried out missions to planets with low temperatures, we are provided with specific cold-weather gear. On a day-to-day basis on the ship, they are unnecessary.”

Jim grinned. “God, if I’d known what you were packing inside your trousers all this time, Spock, I’d have done you months ago.” With that pronouncement, he fell to his knees, rubbing his cheek against Spock’s thick, hard length. The sight was…arresting, especially when he opened his mouth wide and slipped his lips over the dark green end, sucking and licking, sending a shudder of desire through Spock.

As Jim’s expert and attentive actions sent jolts through his body, a part of him acknowledged an appreciation of the fascinating dichotomy that this man, who had faced down Romulans, Klingons and other assorted and powerful adversaries, who was his own commanding officer, should be on his knees fellating him.

Jim pulled back, rubbing his face. “You’re so fucking big it’s making my jaw ache.” Standing, he added, “Let’s get horizontal.”

Spock found the idea agreeable and followed Jim to the bed, taking pleasure in the view on the way. Jim was well-toned and not overly muscular by Human standards. His broad shoulders tapered down to narrow hips and Spock found himself enjoying the flex and relaxation of Jim’s gluteus maximii as he walked.

“Wonder what lube they have,” he said, opening the nightstand drawer. After a moment’s rummaging and apparently not finding what he wanted, he walked to the other side of the bed and checked the other nightstand. “Back in a sec,” he said and disappeared into the bathroom, returning a moment later looking unimpressed.

“Looks like we’ll have to replicate some.” He turned to scan the room, hands on hips, his erection sticking out like a lirpa ready to attack. “Fuck, don’t they have one in here?”

Spock had already ascertained there was no replicator in the room. “Apparently not.”

Jim walked back into the bathroom, emerging with a small bottle of body lotion and put it on the nightstand.

The thought of burying himself inside the delectable body sent Spock’s arousal up a notch. With a small shove at Jim, they fell onto the bed, Spock rolling on top to reclaim his dominant position as they kissed hungrily. He enjoyed the cool softness of Jim’s skin and the way their erections brushed together, creating delightful sparks of arousal that spread out from his groin.

They remained that way for several minutes, until Jim rolled them over and began to kiss and lick his way slowly down Spock’s body, setting it aflame.

“Fucking gorgeous,” Jim whispered between kisses. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

Spock noticed his heart-rate and breathing were significantly elevated and when Jim began to suck on him again, he had to hold onto fistfuls of the bedsheet to prevent himself inadvertently pushing Jim further down and accidentally choking him. Meanwhile Jim appeared quite vocal, humming his apparent approval, and Spock could only wonder how much more that would increase once he commenced intercourse.

Jim pulled off with a pop, his lips wet, eyes half-closed. “God I wanna fuck you, Spock, so bad. I’m gonna fuck you now.”

Spock went rigid at the words and Jim, sensing it, sat up looking worried.

“What? You’re not a virgin with men, are you?”

“Not in the strict sense of the word,” Spock confirmed. “However, in your parlance, I _always_ top.”

“Hah, not this time, buddy, because I always top, too!”

Spock stayed lying on his back and drew his legs together to make a point.

“Aw, Spock, c’mon man!” There was a slightly whiney quality to the tone.

“This is not negotiable.”

“What if I order you to?” Jim offered.

Spock looked at him incredulously. “You cannot be serious. Your rank has no jurisdiction in this bed.”

Jim shrugged. “Hey, it was worth a try.”

Spock stared implacably back.

“Look, you can fuck me next time, Spock. But without proper lube, if we do it here, your massive dick’ll tear me apart. And then you’ll have Bones yelling at you.”

Spock did not relish that thought. Just the mention of the doctor was enough to take the edge off his arousal. The problem was that he had always been the dominant partner. The question was, was he willing to make an exception for Jim?

Five minutes later, Jim had three fingers in his rectum while sucking on the end of his erection. The sensation was far more pleasurable than he had imagined, especially when Jim touched him…

“Hnnnng!”

…there. He was actively panting.

“You ready?” Jim asked with a smile, and then kissed him breathless.

Spock’s whole body felt as though it were on fire, so feeling Jim’s cool body lie above him was more than welcome. Placing his feet over Jim’s shoulders, he felt the hardness of his lover’s manhood enter him. This was easily the most physically intimate experience he’d ever had.

“Fuck!” Jim gasped.

Spock wasn’t sure if that was an exclamation or a command. Surprisingly – because he hadn’t expected to enjoy being on the receiving end of anal intercourse and wasn’t entirely sure how Jim had talked him into it – the sensation of Jim easing in and out of him was most pleasurable. In fact, there had been enough foreplay that he was already close.

Jim paused in his thrusts and kissed Spock on the end of his nose with a smile. “Do you have any idea how amazing you look?”

Spock felt he should reciprocate. “You are most attractive yourself, Jim.” This earned him a long, hard kiss, before pulling back to begin thrusting again.

“I’ve lost count how often I’ve fantasized doing this with you, Spock,” Jim panted from exertion. “Can’t believe we’re really here.”

Spock couldn’t, in all honesty, say it was the same for him, since he had only acknowledged his attraction for Jim earlier that evening, though he was beginning to suspect he’d held it for some time and had either not been able to interpret, or had simply ignored, the clues. Reaching up, he caressed Jim’s flushed face as beads of sweat rolled down from his temples. Jim’s pupils had dilated to such an extent that the blue of his irises were barely visible.

Jim balanced on one hand, taking hold of Spock with the other, working his sex in time with his thrusts, sending heated sparks along his nerves. As Jim filled him and held him, the mingled aroma of men in heat surrounding them, Spock could not recall being so aroused. When Jim lowered himself onto his elbow, they kissed passionately, Spock sucking on Jim’s tongue in rhythm with each rhythmic push.

Caught up in the overwhelming assault, Spock had completely lost track of time when Jim pulled out of the kiss and stilled all movement. “When I met…your older self on Delta Vega, he did some kind of mind thing with me.”

Spock felt something flash through him, recognizing it belatedly as jealousy, wondering what the purpose was for his counterpart to meld with Jim. The puzzling question was for another time, the distraction being the reason it took a moment to realize why Jim might bring the subject up now.

“You wish to share thoughts.”

“I’ve often wondered since then, if Vulcans do it when they have sex.”

“They do. It is not something I have done, however.” Even as he said it, he knew he wanted it. And if Jim was willing…

“Can we?” Jim asked, his voice quiet. “I really want to. Ever since I did it with your other self, I’ve wanted to do it with you.”

It would be fitting, Spock decided. Jim inside his body, and he inside Jim’s mind. An equitable trade.

Lying on his back it was easy to do. Reaching up, he placed his hands in the correct configuration and fell headlong into Jim’s mind, finding it an ideal match to his. It was like diving into a cool pool on a hot day: something of a shock to the system, yet pleasurable and perfect and exactly what was needed.

Spock was so caught up in the beautiful chaos of Jim’s mind he lost all awareness of the physical until he sensed an unrelenting pressure building up and suddenly releasing like a star going supernova, exploding into an infinite number of fragments spinning outward, and then slowly coalescing to form a new vista.

 _A single, joined vista._  
  
Spock pushed Jim off him and scrambled up the bed, looking appalled at what he had inadvertently done.

~*~

 _24 hours later_  
  
“I understand your concerns regarding the issue of discipline within the chain of command,” Spock explains, “and I am aware of StarFleet regulations regarding fraternization between senior officers. However, Jim and I are unable to cease what we have begun.”

Sarek’s mouth compresses into a thin line, a rare ‘tell’ that he is displeased, though Spock knows he would never admit it if he were to point it out.

“Unable? How so?”

Spock swallows and this time allows the blush to color his face. “During sexual congress, a spontaneous bond formed. I was unaware, but apparently, James Kirk and I are _t’hy’la_.”

Sarek rises, Spock gratefully following suit – the chair is not a comfortable one and he is a little…tender… after three enthusiastic couplings, the last one less than an hour before this meeting. He is thankful that far from being angry at the inadvertent bonding, Jim was delighted, confessing the love he had been holding for Spock for some time. With Jim’s help, he was also able to interpret his own hidden feelings for Jim as love. So, in that, too, they were a match.

Sarek walks around his desk to stand in front of Spock, his hands clasped together in front of him. “I congratulate you, my son. T’hy’la are rare – rarer still since our planet’s destruction. In addition, I believe once we have informed StarFleet of your marital status, Mr. Finney will not have a viable story, since a Vulcan bond could hardly be deemed ‘fraternization’. I shall inform him of our refusal to pay.”

Spock feels a sense of relief wash over him and for the first time since entering the office, allows his shields to drop so that Jim can know all is well. As soon as he does so, he feels Jim’s reassurance flood across their bond. He had left him asleep in their hotel room, but senses he is now nearby. A moment later, the door opens and Jim strides in, dressed casually in a white shirt and jeans. “Ambassador Sarek.”

Before they left for this meeting Spock demonstrated to Jim the Vulcan touch of bondmates, and now as Jim moves to his side, he holds out two fingers in an outward show of solidarity and intimacy.

Sarek nods in apparent approval. “James Kirk, bondmate and t’hy’la to my son, welcome to the House of Surak. I trust that when we hold your bonding celebration you will wear attire appropriate for the occasion."

Jim smiles. “Thank you sir. How did you figure it out?”

Sarek slides his padd across the desk and Spock finally gets to see the holo his father has been referring to. When, upon viewing the holo, the color rises in his bondmate's cheeks in a most becoming way, Spock decides he is glad it is a reaction that, unlike himself, Jim is unable to control.

~*~

 _Epilogue_  
  
Although Spock and Jim are still on shoreleave – unofficially, Jim’s calling it their honeymoon – they are summoned to StarFleet HQ two days after Riley’s stag party. Getting ready in their luxury ocean-side cabin in Bali, it’s the first time they’ve both donned their uniforms since their bonding.

As Spock pulls up his trousers, from behind him, Jim says, “Fuck, Spock. I’d forgotten you’d told me you don’t wear briefs under your uniform. I’m going to be walking around the ship with a permanent semi!”

Spock’s lips quirk in amusement at the image as he pulls on his boots. Once ready, they stand for a moment and look at each other before coming together and kissing deeply.

“It’s kinda weird,” Jim admits when they break apart. “It’s like all this has been happening to Jim Kirk, not Captain Kirk.” He shakes his head. “That probably doesn’t make any sense.”

Spock allows a small smile and runs his thumb over Jim’s lips. His bondmate’s face is already tanned, emphasizing the blueness of his eyes. “I do understand, Jim.” He steps back and pulls the hem of his shirt down to neaten it. “We are expected in three minutes, Captain.”

Jim grins at him. “I see what you did there.” Pulling out his communicator, he says, “Kirk to SF Ops 1, energize.”

Seconds later, they materialize on the other side of the world in San Francisco and are met in the transporter room by a Yeoman who takes them to a briefing room just a short walk down the corridor. As they enter, an attractive young lieutenant stands and walks over to them, smiling warmly.

“Jim! Look at you! Being a starship captain obviously agrees with you.”

Jim smiles. “Areel, it’s good to see you. You’re looking great.”

Standing beside him, Spock can feel the obvious pleasure his bondmate is feeling at seeing the smiling young Lieutenant, and fights a stab of jealousy. It seems Jim running into former girlfriends is going to be a perennial issue, as Jim appears to have been highly active, sexually, for quite a number of years. He was therefore going to have to, as McCoy would no doubt say, ‘get over it’.

The woman finally turns to him. “You must be Commander Spock, I’m Areel Shaw, a lawyer with StarFleet’s Serious Crime Office.”

“Your deductive reasoning is sound, _Lieutenant_ ,” he says frostily. 

In his peripheral vision, Spock sees Jim swivel his head to look at him questioningly and feels the query across their bond, but Spock refuses to meet Jim’s eye.

Jim turns back to the Lieutenant. “So, how are you?”

“I’m good, Jim – better than good!” she beams. “I’ve just been accepted to a position at the Judge Advocate’s General Office, so I’ll be involved in court martials, which means I’ll finally get to prosecute.”

“Congratulations,” Jim smiles. “You always were one smart cookie.”

“Thank you. Please take a seat,” she offers as she sits down on the opposite side of the briefing table. Her face becomes serious. “So, to the reason you’re here. This discussion will be recorded. First of all, please can you both identify yourself.”

“Captain James T. Kirk, U.S.S. _Enterprise_.”

“Lieutenant Commander Spock, U.S.S. _Enterprise_.”

“Thank you. My last task at the SCO is to ask you a few questions about Ben Finney. Do you remember him other than when he approached you in the bar?”

Jim shakes his head. “No – I’m pretty sure I’d never met him before then.”

“What do you know of him then?” she presses.

Jim shrugs. “I’ve not looked up his StarFleet record, if that’s what you mean – I heard from Ambassador Sarek he was an officer and was dishonorably discharged a year or so ago. When he approached us in the pub in Cork, he was generally obnoxious. The following day, I found out he’d contacted the Ambassador with one of two holos he’d taken of Spock and me in the hope of extorting ten thousand credits in return for the original pictures.”

“Like this one?” she asks, holding up a padd with the picture of them in the bar on display.

Jim grins. “Yes. How did you get it?”

“Ambassador Sarek sent it to me. Commander Spock, what did your father tell you he’d done when Finney approached him?”

Spock raises an eyebrow at the question since the answer was obvious. “Ambassador Sarek and I had a conversation, after which he told me he intended to refuse payment.”

Jim leans forward. “I take it you have intelligence on him.”

“We do. StarFleet Intelligence apprehended him this morning in Dublin, Ireland, after he anonymously approached Admiral Komack two days ago with the same idea in mind.”

Spock is not surprised. “Indeed? That was most foolhardy.”

Jim shakes his head. “He can’t be in his right mind.”

“That will be for the doctors and psychologists to determine. Apparently, he tried to go underground after the formal announcement of your bonding hit the news yesterday.” Shaw smiles, adding, “That must have been a blow to him. Are you aware, Jim, that he did this because he holds a grudge against you?”

Jim looks taken aback. “Me? I don’t even know him.”

“He was a Lieutenant on the _Enterprise_ assigned to engineering, when she shipped out to Vulcan. Technically, he was fourth in command after Engineer Olson.”

Spock is surprised at this news as the ship’s final complement had not been confirmed at the time they warped out to assist Vulcan, and as a result many of the positions had to be back-filled by cadets in their final year at the Academy. With Finney being located in engineering, he was unaware of the presence of the officer.

“When Captain Pike left the ship to go to the Narada, Olson should have been made first officer, not you. When Olson died, that would have left Finney as number two to Acting Captain Spock. In addition, when you were Acting Captain, Jim, you promoted Lieutenant Commander Scott to Chief Engineer, passing over him a second time.”

Jim shakes his head. “I had no idea.”

Shaw smiles at him. “You weren’t to know. We’re still not sure why he was at the same bar as you – though it’s unlikely to be a coincidence, but we do believe his taking those holos of you wasn’t premeditated since no-one knew about you two at that point. He probably just seized the opportunity when he saw you together.”

Spock wonders if Jim will correct her assumption that they were already together, and notices with satisfaction that he stays silent and merely smiles and nods at her.

“Once he did get the pictures,” she continues, “his intention was to get the credits and then publish a _third_ shot he took and kept in a safe location. Admiral Pike asked me to give this to you.” She passes Jim a padd. “It has all three originals on it. We’ve checked his equipment and he definitely didn’t take any others or make any copies. It’s the reason you were called in, rather than conducting this interview as a vid call.”

Jim immediately switches it on to take a look. The shot is a long one from the side, Jim on top of him in the armchair, kissing, while both of Spock’s hands cup Jim’s buttocks. Jim grins at it and looks at Spock. “I don’t remember you being that handsy.”

 _I do_ , Spock thinks as he lifts an eyebrow, the action making Jim laugh.

Unaware of the silent communication between them, Shaw says, “Computer, cease recording.” Then she ads, “You two getting hitched completely scuppered his plans. I still can’t believe it myself, the Galactic Superstud himself, settling down!”

Spock frowns as Jim laughs again, glancing at his Vulcan bondmate. “Honestly Areel, news of my escapades were greatly exaggerated.”

She gives him a skeptical look. “I don’t believe that for a second – I remember you at the Academy. Still,” she looks at Spock, “I bet he’ll keep you in line.”

Jim smiles affably. “Spock won’t need to.”

Even though he knows it and is fully aware of the depth of Jim’s feelings thanks to their bond, it warms him to hear him affirm it to someone else.

Shaw stands. “Thank you for your time, gentlemen. I’ll walk you back to the transporter room.”

As Jim and Spock step up onto the pad, Shaw smiles. “So, how long will it be this time before I see you again?” she asks Jim.

Jim grins. “At the risk of sounding like a mystic, that depends on the stars.”

She steps up onto the pad beside Jim. “Do you think it would cause a complete breakdown of discipline if a lowly lieutenant was kissed by a starship captain?”

“Let's see.” Jim leans forward and gives her a light kiss on her cheek and then glances around to see the transporter operative apparently absorbed at her station and the security officer looking in a different direction. “See? No change. Discipline goes on.”

She steps back. “And so must you. Goodbye, Jim. Spock,” she adds, turning to the Vulcan.

“Take care, Areel,” Jim says with a smile.

"Live long and prosper, Ms. Shaw."

A moment later, they materialize back in their hotel suite. “She's a very good lawyer,” Jim affirms.

“Really?” Spock doesn’t for a moment believe Jim was only ever interested in her for her skills as an attorney. He’s about to say more, when he realizes Jim is gazing at him, a hungry look in his eyes.

“I could seriously get a uniform fetish,” Jim confesses. “Do you ever fantasize, Spock?”

“Not in the manner in which you do, as a means of sexual release.”

Jim looks intrigued. “But you do have some kind of fantasies. So, if you could wish for anything from me, sexually, what would it be?”

Spock doesn’t have to think before he answers. “If I had a wish, it would be to take you in the captain’s chair. Fortuitously, the ship is currently devoid of all but a skeleton maintenance crew.”

Jim grins and pulls out his communicator. “You know, Mister, I like the way you think. Except I’ll take you.”

Spock clasps his hands behind his back, his stance, stiff. He’s consistently given in to Jim on this when caught up in the moment, but this time he intends to remain firm. “I think not. It is, to use your parlance, my turn.”

“Jeez Spock, are we going to have this argument every time we fuck?”

“Until we come to an equitable arrangement, yes.”

Jim glares at him. “Fine, have it your way.”

Spock allows a small smile. “I intend to.”

[finis]

**Author's Note:**

> I love to get comments and feedback (including concrit), so please let me know what you thought. :)


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